


Flooded

by verucasalt123



Series: 2013 wishlist_fic fills [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fights, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 21:45:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verucasalt123/pseuds/verucasalt123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt:  <i> After it rains for almost two weeks straight, the country is flooded. The Impala isn't an option anymore as in the roads aren't safe anymore. The case they investigated turned out not to be of supernatural origin, but having been cooped up inside for so long has the boys on edge nevertheless. Maybe they argued? Now that the water is rising, though, all their issues are forgotten. And what will happen when the levee breaks this time? </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Flooded

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SoSerendipity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoSerendipity/gifts).



No one had ever been able to convince Sam that he had so much in common with his father, but Dean knew it to be true. There was no time when it was more glaringly evident than when they hit a dead end on a case. Going after something supernatural and finding out there was nothing to hunt had always thrown John Winchester for a loop; most of the time it resulted in a drinking binge and at least several days of him getting pissed off for no reason due to the lingering frustration. When Dean started hunting on his own, and with his brother, he found that he himself didn’t have the same reaction. Sure, it was wasted time and resources, but mostly he felt either relief that there was no monster to fight ( _no monster to hurt Sam_ ) or disgust at the fact that plain old people were capable of acts worthy of a supernatural villain. 

Sam, though…he reacted just like his dad. Well, not usually with drinking binges (sometimes with drinking binges), but he was cagey and pissy and just fucking touchy as hell for days. 

They’d been in southern Alabama for a week, and it hadn’t stopped raining the entire time. Which also didn’t help because Sam hated having to be out in the rain anyway, even if it was just dashing through the parking lot of a motel or a supermarket. At least they hadn’t had to spend money on a motel room this time around – the collapse of the housing market left plenty of empty houses in foreclosure that Dean and Sam could commandeer for small amounts of time without anyone noticing. Here, they’d even lucked into finding one that still had the electricity turned on, and furniture left behind so they could take hot showers and watch television and sleep in a decent bed. None of that made a difference, though, when the hunt was a bust. It turned out that their pattern, married men in their mid-forties disappearing without a trace, was just a string of shitty husbands leaving their wives and families, each one of them spurred on by the last one who’d pulled it off. True to form, Sam was irrationally angry and more bitchy than usual once they figured this out. That decent bed they had put to good use when they first arrived certainly wouldn’t be seeing any more action, that was for sure.

Normally, they’d head back to the bunker, where Sam could proceed with his temper tantrum and Dean could just stay the hell away from him until he quit acting like an ass. Unfortunately, it had taken them the entire week to find the truth about what had been happening in this small southern town, and by that time all the roads were impassable. Water flowed freely out of the trenches at the end of the yard where they’d been squatting and rose until it was dangerously close to the front of the house. They’d left the Impala in the driveway since the house was in the middle of nowhere and there were no neighbors to notice, but the driveway had a steep decline at the end. 

The morning after their discovery that there was no hunt here for them, Dean braced himself for impact and told Sam they were going to have to move the car. 

“What the fuck are you talking about, Dean? We can’t drive anywhere, dumbass. The car’s fine.”

Dean knew this was not the case, so he pressed on. If he could have done this himself, he would, but he needed Sam’s help. “The water’s covering half the tires already. The backyard is much higher ground, Sam. If we leave her where she is, she’s gonna flood, so we need to push her around to the back of the house.”

Sam looked at him like he’d just asked Sam to cut off his own arm. “You want me to go out there, into this torrential downpour, and _push_ the fucking car to the other side of the house? Dean, you’re being ridiculous. I’m not pushing that goddamn car anywhere”, he said, fuming. 

“You know, when it finally does stop raining, it would be nice to have a functioning vehicle so we can get the fuck out of here. If we leave the car in the driveway, and the water gets much higher, we’re screwed. This is a simple concept that I should not have to explain to you, Sam. I know you’re in the middle of a bitch fit-”

Dean really should have stopped after his second sentence there, and he realized it just a second or two before Sam’s fist connected with his jaw. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child, Dean”, Sam shouted as Dean froze, completely stunned and maybe a little afraid; maybe being reminded again how much Sam could behave so much like their father had all those years ago. 

He didn’t have much time to dwell on it, though, because Sam was already putting on his shoes and his jacket. He was going to do what Dean asked, because he knew Dean was right, and maybe he was a little shaken up himself, because he wouldn’t look at Dean but moved to the front door and spit out, “Let’s just get this done.”

The process wasn’t anywhere near as difficult as either of them thought it would be, but it was still pretty tough. The Impala wasn’t exactly compact, and they were going uphill. The whole thing only took about twenty minutes, and as soon as they were finished, Sam stalked off toward the house without a word or a look in Dean’s direction. Dean only had to see his brother’s retreating back for a minute to notice how stiffly he was walking, and that he wasn’t moving nearly as quickly as he normally would to get out of the rain. 

Sam was in the kitchen, stripped out of his jacket and his soaked shoes and socks, trying to dry off with a small handtowel that had been left behind with just about everything else the former occupants had owned. Dean caught up with him there, studying the tight look on Sam’s face and how he winced when he tried to twist and dry the back of his neck. 

And this was another thing about Sam – if he stubbed his toe or got a papercut, he’d curse a blue streak and complain about it for an hour. Alternatively, if he broke his arm, he was quiet and still, closing his eyes as the bone was set, barely making a sound. 

Dean was still pissed about Sam clocking him in the middle of a stupid argument, but that didn’t negate his instinct to make sure Sam was all right. It wasn’t going to be easy, though, with his mood already dark and his natural inclination to refuse to admit he was injured unless it was absolutely necessary or visibly obvious. Dean didn’t see any blood, but there was clearly something wrong. “Sam, what happened?”

The expected response was forthcoming immediately. “Nothing. It’s fine.”

“What’s fine then, if nothing happened?” Dean asked, trying to keep his voice calm and even. 

“Don’t make a big deal. I felt something pull under my ribs while I was pushing the damn car, okay? Nothing to-” Sam couldn’t continue because when he moved to take off his t-shirt, he let out a bitten-off moan of pain. And yeah, if he wasn’t able to move enough to pull his shirt off without an involuntary verbal confirmation that something was wrong, then there was no way it was _nothing_. 

Dean moved toward Sam, backing him up against the counter and very, very gently reaching out to touch him. “Shhh, hey…hey, come on, let me…”, he almost-whispered. Immediately, all the fight went out of Sam. He slouched against the counter and finally raised his eyes so they were looking directly at each other. 

“M’sorry”, he mumbled, placing his hand over Dean’s where he was touching his waist. “Sorry for, you know. Fuck. _Fuck_ , Dean, it hurts”, he said, his eyes shining before they closed and he dropped his head onto Dean’s shoulder. 

It was as if all the tension between them bled away into the air all at once. Dean led Sam to the loveseat in the living room and told him to hold still while he helped him get out of the dripping wet shirt. Sam still winced, but it was much easier than taking it off himself. And Dean was an encyclopedia of ways to minimize any pain that Sam felt; he’d been doing it since Sam was old enough to walk (and fall). 

Sam stayed mostly quiet and still on the small couch as Dean got both of them out of their wet clothes, dried them off with real towels from the bathroom, and prepared an icepack wrapped in plastic bags to rest against Sam’s sore chest. He must have pulled the fuck out of something, and he hadn’t said a word, hadn’t stopped pushing the car, hadn’t even asked Dean to stop for a second. God damn his stubborn ass. 

That was all right, though, because now they were warm and dry and Sam was letting Dean hold him, soothe him, comfort him. This was a whole different kind of being naked and pressed together – there was no heat, just soft kisses and Sam trying to apologize for being a dick and Dean whispering assurances that everything was just fine.


End file.
